


speak to me

by crimsonheadache



Series: Kinkuary2021 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, PWP, Parseltongue Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonheadache/pseuds/crimsonheadache
Summary: Draco was just trying to get through his Potions class. Truly. That was all.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinkuary2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174427
Comments: 8
Kudos: 237
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	speak to me

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt 20: Pareseltongue_  
>    
> thanks to U and SC for the beta!

Draco was in Potions class when it happened. It had been a typical, dull day at Hogwarts. The type of day Draco had come to expect. 

But then Potter had to go and ruin it, as he does _most_ things here lately. 

Well, maybe _ruin_ wasn’t the correct term… 

He was deep into his readings as Professor Slughorn was up at his desk, doing Merlin knows what. To Draco, it looked like he was in the middle of playing a light game of Exploding Snap, to the amusement of some of the other students. 

Draco just huffed and rolled his eyes at the display before going back to his readings on the proper way to brew Alihotsy Draught when he heard it. 

It sounded like some sort of distorted mumbling from the table in front of him, but -- somehow not English? He glanced up at the table Potter always sat at, right in front of him --. 

But the sounds ceased. 

His jaw ticked in annoyance before blowing out a long breath and turning back to his reading once more. He thought to himself how it wouldn’t hurt Potter to get a haircut, the brute. It was currently getting long enough that it curled around down his ears, close to reaching his neck in the back. 

Some days when Potter was especially grating on his nerves, Draco just wanted to grab it and _pull_. 

But Draco only sighed before looking back down at his book, reading the words without processing them, nor did he _need_ to. He was getting an O in Potions; that much was clear. Thankfully he has always been exceptional at the subject, so hardly any additional reading was really necessary. 

Instead, he glanced around the classroom yet again, eyeing his classmates with boredom, and rolling his eyes good-naturedly at Pansy cutting her cuticles a few tables over from him and Blaise clearly staring off into space thinking about Merlin knows what. 

His eyes roamed around the room some more, making his way towards the front where most of the Gryffindors sat. Of course, Granger’s nose was practically touching the text of her own book; if she wasn’t careful, she might hurt herself. 

On the other hand, Weasley looked as though he was falling asleep at the sodding table, no less! Draco expected nothing more from the red-head, but still. Their N.E.W.T.S. were rapidly getting closer, and if he didn’t pull himself together, he was not going to get anything better than a P. 

Perhaps Potter was helping him, Draco thought, as his eyes drifted back to the man in question’s back. 

It didn’t look like much help was being given, however, with the Weasel snoring away and Potter…. 

_What was that infernal mumbling again?_

It almost sounded like it was coming directly from Potter himself now, and Draco straightened up slightly in his seat to hear. 

He figured killing the Dark Lord must give you a complex; maybe part of that is talking to yourself in the middle of class. Draco drowned out the sounds of quills marking and pages flipping to the best of his ability, turning to focus in on the man sitting right in front of him, and found that _yes_ , Potter was indeed mumbling to himself. 

A Draco from three years ago would have certainly called him out in front of the class or perhaps written a cruel note to him about it. But nowadays, he didn’t have that energy nor anger in him. 

Not after everything that has transpired between them. The War. The losses. 

Not to mention Potter coming to speak at his trials, which was a whole other topic of conversation Draco hadn’t even brought up to Pansy, let alone Potter himself. 

No, Draco has decided to let things be and play out on their own time: not causing any trouble with anyone this year and getting through his Eighth Year as quickly and painlessly as he could. 

The sounds increased in volume, and Draco leaned forward in his chair to hear what in the sodding hell Potter was saying to himself. But it sounded as though he was...speaking a different language? 

But that wasn’t possible, was it? 

Not that Draco knew everything about him; he could speak ten other languages for all he knew. But...he had never heard Potter mention it, nor any of his other loyal followers, nor _The Prophet_ for that matter. 

Draco looked around the classroom, and everyone seemed to be minding their own business, too absorbed in their readings or on a different plane of existence entirely, not privy to the random sounds coming from the man sitting in front of him. Which made Draco wonder if he was as making this shit up; maybe he was the one losing his mind…. 

But no, the sounds were starting up again, and Draco leaned a tad bit further in his seat to hear clearer. 

If anything, it would be a funny story to tell Pansy later. If only he could figure out what it was that Potter was whispering about. 

But all of a sudden, Potter muttered something low in the back of his throat, and Draco found himself leaning backward, away from him, and back in his seat. He found himself getting hot and wondered if Slughorn ended his cool air spell. 

He always hated it when the old lump did that. 

But no, that wasn’t it, Draco realized with a pang of realization. 

If only. 

Yet, never knowing when to quit while he was ahead, Draco leaned forward once again in his seat, ears trained on Potter in front of him. 

It almost sounded like a sort of made-up language, the words spewing from Potter’s mouth. 

It was almost -- _sexy_. 

_Oh Merlin_. 

Draco could feel himself getting hard under his desk, and he winced, looking around the class once again, just to be sure no one was looking. At what? He wasn’t even sure. A mixture of shame and hysteria wound its way inside him at that. 

What was he doing? 

Slowly getting off to Potter, mumbling to himself? In the middle of class? 

Potter grunted once, then the words came back, and Draco swallowed dryly. 

_“Seetha haa shaaya. Ssssatha haaass aayaa.”_

What in the sodding hell. Draco truly wasn’t sure if he was actually getting off on Potter’s made-up language or if he was ultimately and utterly losing it as well. 

No, it was both, he realized as he felt his erection rub up against his trousers. The worst day to not wear pants, he decided, but he couldn’t find that he minded much. The roughness of his trousers felt nice against his cock, which was plumping up at the mere sounds coming from Potter’s mouth. 

He must be losing it. That could be the only other option at this point. 

Or perhaps the class prior to them had brewed an Amortentia, and the residue fumes were catching up to him. 

No, deep down, he knew it was only Potter to blame. 

He could feel the wetness pooling in his trousers and wondered if it would stain with pants to catch it. But the worry went flying out the window when the muttering got a decibel louder, and Draco bit back a whimper, nonchalantly moving his left hand down to his lap, lightly rubbing at himself through his trousers. 

He made sure his robes covered most of it; he wouldn’t want to disrupt poor old Slughorn’s delicate sensibilities and have him catch him getting off to the Chosen One’s odd mumbling problem. 

A problem that Draco seemed to find unbearably hot, as it turned out. 

He cautiously leaned a tad bit closer over his desk to hear better when he felt the metal of his trousers rub against his prick deliciously, and he stifled the groan he desperately wanted to let out. 

He moved his hand away, forcing himself to pick up his quill again to pretend he was writing up notes on the reading, when in all actuality, he was ever so slightly moving his hips over the edge of the desk, praying to Merlin no one would catch on or look up at the sight of him rubbing off at the sound of Potter’s voice in front of him. 

A few minutes passed, Draco straining his ears to hear the sexy drawls in front of him. There were a few times when Potter would stop, write something down with his quill, turn a page of his book, then get right back at it again, unknowingly torturing Draco. 

_Tease_ \-- Draco thought, maddeningly struck with the knowledge that he was going to tip over the edge soon. Potter’s illegal voice suddenly sounded deeper and gravelly, almost as if Potter was intentionally doing this to him, the sounds coming from the back of his throat. 

Draco couldn’t hold it back anymore and swore he blacked out for a few seconds as he came in his trousers suddenly; he was barely able to sit up straight at his desk, let alone pretend he had been reading for the past twenty minutes. His right hand clumsily grasped at the side of his table for some sort of stabilization to ensure he didn’t fall right out of his seat. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. 

As his orgasm crested and trickled away, leaving only the familiar feelings of elation and serotonin, his eyes focused enough ahead of him to see the source of his outburst: Saint Potter. But this time, instead of his back toward him, he had turned around in his seat. 

Staring right at him, mouth agape like the imbecile he was. 

Yet, he was as red in the face as his Gryffindor robes, his green eyes, usually so bright and clear -- now glazed over and cloudy, as if he had been watching for longer than Draco had even realized. Watching him fall apart over _him_. 

Draco wanted the world to swallow him up. 

But instead, he forcibly pushed himself back into his seat again, wincing slightly at the stickiness, not even noticing how he had been practically dry humping his desk before, and a wave of embarrassment overtook him. He absolutely knew his face was as red as the Weasel’s hair by this point, and he was desperately going through any escapes he could manage, when -- 

Potter smiled at him. 

With what he was sure was a bewildered look he gave Potter, Draco blindly reached for his quill, pretending to write down some notes as if he hadn’t just come in his trousers like a thirteen-year-old again. 

Draco forced his eyes away from the green; afraid if he didn’t, he would never be able to when a little paper-shaped bird landed on his desk. 

He waited a good two seconds before opening the paper and felt his heart palpitating in his chest with what was written down, but more importantly, who wrote it. 

> _~~I noticed you~~ Sorry - sometimes when I’m thinking, I tend to...mumble. You should come by after class to Gryffindor Tower, if you’re free, that is. ~~I would love to show you more of my~~ I need help with my Potions if you are free? I can make it up to you for ~~causing you to~~ being a distraction._

Once the words finally caught up to him, Draco grinned lightly down at the crumpled paper, and embarrassment subsided for the time being. 

He would very much like to see more of whatever it was Potter was so keen to show him more of.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are cool 😈
> 
> part 2 is now up!


End file.
